Man The Enigma

Man is made of skin and bones,

Skin that wrinkles with time, and bones  that fracture

Yet he has no time but is chained to his lap top and cell phones.

He thinks he will always remain in perfect prime,

The further he goes the more he loses sight

Chasing after an elusive moving light

Ubiquitous loans and EMI the story of his life,

Till one day he sees the writing on the wall,

The he feels the wrinkle in his skin, the fractures in his bones,

The end of his days.

If only he had paused to live like a man

not like automation,

For the simple pleasures that life offered him,

In happiness he would have lived and

In happiness, he would have died.